


Near To You

by iamthewordshaker



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthewordshaker/pseuds/iamthewordshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxy and Dirk spend a quiet morning together, enjoying each other's company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Near To You

There’s something wrong about waking up alone on an uneventful Saturday morning. You lie in the bed and reflect upon this for a few seconds, perfectly aware that although there’s some warmness lingering in the spot next to you and there’s an imprint of his body, it’s empty. Even so, you’re not ready to wake up quite yet. Buried beneath the blankets, you cling to a pillow and try to ignore the soft clinking and clanking coming from somewhere in the living room. Your eyes flutter close again and you let out a soft noise, stretching until the bones in your back pop. Eventually, you pull the blankets down to your neck, emerging a bit dazed and sleepy.

True enough, the spot next to you is currently vacant. Well. Vacant of anything living, and a living person is exactly who you’re looking for. Rather than a sunglasses-wearing blonde-haired boy, you find a blue and orange puppet grinning at you. Most would find it creepy, but you’ve almost started viewing the little guy as… endearing.

You peer past Lil Cal at the alarm clock, the obnoxiously pink alarm clock that you brought with you when you moved in. You expected Dirk to fight about it, but he’d merely shrugged and thrown his old one in the closet.

It reads 8:58 A.M. in purple and blue light; from outside, there’s some muffled talking and some rummaging. You lie in bed for a few more minutes, stretched out on your back and letting out a rather loud yawn. Eventually, you shuffle out of bed and stare as the blankets slip from your body, revealing positively nothing.

You stare at your clothes, scattered across the floor, and think about hunting for them. Then again, you should probably take a shower—you’re covered with a thin layer of thin sweat and it’s just a little gross, but it’s nothing that requires your immediate attention. Rather than hunting down every piece of clothing just so you can take them off later, you pull one of the blankets from the bed and wrap it firmly around the body like some sort of medieval cloak. It occurs to you that Lil Cal just saw your ass. Rather than thinking about it, you grab his hand and pull him along with you like some little girl carrying around her teddy bear.

Dirk is in the living room and the quiet conversation you heard must have taken place between him and Squarewave. Who is currently missing an arm.

“How goes the surgery, Doctor Strider?” You ask, one hand holding the blanket (although it does remain tucked under your shoulders) and the other holds Lil Cal. You can tell his eyes sweep over you, once or twice, even though he’s wearing his sunglasses.

Even though he’s comfortable enough with you to go without them, you still find him in the habit of wearing them when he’s alone. Or, at least, when he thinks he’s alone. Sometimes the irony thing is just funny and other times it can be a little frustrating. But. He’s learned, at least. How to express his emotions a little better and how sometimes you just want to be That Couple, the one who are so annoyingly sweet and diabetes-inducing, the ones who shower each other in love and give each other embarrassing nicknames, the ones who go out on romantic dates and say cheesy pick-up lines.

It’s a comfortable relationship. At the very least, he’s your best friend. At most, he’s your soulmate. You can have full conversations with him without uttering more than a few words, although sometimes you like hearing him talk. He has a nice voice, although he tries to tone down the Southern accent. You haven’t told him just how hot it is yet.

After a few moments of silence, you say, “Earth to Dirk, come in.”

He lets out a soft hum that translates as give me a minute. You let out a huff and sit down on the armchair. Squarewave sits on the coach next to Dirk, swinging his legs and looking every bit like a schoolchild. Dirk is fiddling with the wires on his arm, lip twitching downwards whenever it lets out a blue spark.

“This ain’t cool, dog,” Squarewave grumbles.

You’ve sort of started regarding the robots as your children. Secretly, of course. You know how Dirk is with the whole having kids thing.

You reach for the remote and turn on the TV, flipping idly through the channels until you come to the Discovery channel playing a program on whales.

After nearly half an hour, in which you struggle not to fall asleep, Dirk lets out a small grunt and begins reconnecting Squarewave’s arm. As soon as it’s done, Squarewave moves his arm about and goes through the calibrating process.

“Good as new,” Dirk says.

“Maybe you won’t keep throwing orange soda at him,” you suggest sleepily.

Squarewave is pushed away after being denied a rap request and finally, you’re left alone with Dirk. You’re not feeling particularly active so you give him a look until he pulls his shades off and pulls himself up from the couch to pick you up, blanket and all, and bring you right back to the couch. He lies down beneath you and you wrap the blanket around him as well, your bare chest against his, and rest your face in the crook of his neck. He smells like metal and electricity and soap and the Texas sun; it’s intoxicating.

“I would have stayed in bed, but Sawtooth looked pretty murderous,” he says, voice soft, running one hand through your hair.

“I think your robots are fucking,” you say matter-of-factly. The whale program has ended, replaced with something about guns. You turn your head to watch it with renewed interest.

“They can’t fuck. I didn’t build them for it. They shouldn’t regard each other as anything but rivals—it’s how I programmed them.”

“You taught them to observe, duh.” The show breaks for a commercial and you turn back to him. He looks down at you, orange eyes scanning your face and then leaning forward to brush his lips against yours.

“Maybe.” He pauses. “Are you wearing any clothes underneath this thing?”

You give him a shit-eating grin.

He doesn’t laugh, not necessarily, but he lets out some small noise of amusement and his eyes crinkle at the edges. Score one for Roxy, you think, giving a small lick at his neck. He continues to pet your hair and you occasionally kiss his lips again, but the morning is spent cuddling and sometimes paying attention to the TV.

At one point, you fall asleep again. When you wake up, he’s dozing quietly, one hand still resting on your head and the other on the small of your back. You think about waking him up—you want to take a shower, but you don’t feel like wasting water. (Ignoring, of course, that he’s already showered.) Then again, it’s rare that you two have days like this, where you can lounge about and Dirk won’t fuss about having a thousand different things to do. You think—no, you know he overworks himself sometimes, too caught up in fixing things, making improvements, or inventing new concepts altogether.

He lets out a small noise, eyelids fluttering, and suddenly presses you closer.

Oh yeah, the shower can definitely wait.


End file.
